Sound of Silence
by RobinKent
Summary: This one-shot was inspired by Disturbed's version of Sound of Silence, originally by Simon and Garfunkel. I don't own the song. Robin loses Gotham, and becomes something else and silently vows to return.


_**Hello darkness, my old friend  
I've come to talk with you again  
Because a vision softly creeping  
Left its seeds while I was sleeping  
And the vision that was planted in my brain  
Still remains within the sound of silence**_

The lithe young hero stepped lightly, almost trepidatiously, among the bodies littering the streets and alleyways of the Narrows. Some he rudely stepped over and others he gave a fond and painful look as he walked around them. Those streets were now silent, though the cry and clash of battle still echoed in his ears and was remembered by the stone walls about him. Though he had his dearest love and the finest friends, he had never felt so alone as now.

 _ **In restless dreams I walked alone  
Narrow streets of cobblestone  
'Neath the halo of a street lamp  
I turned my collar to the cold and damp**_

By habit he still avoided the glow of the still burning streetlights, as well as turning aside his eyes. The truth of the view was too painful. The pride of a young generation that would not be held back had paid the price for their quest for freedom and peace. Even alone they had sworn to fight. The strongest-hearted among them told him before the end: "Men long before us once swore to 'Live free or die.' We have to do this or we can never deserve to be free."

The chill he felt was not only the incessant cold drizzle seeping under his clothes nor was the moisture on his cheeks only the rain.

 _ **When my eyes were stabbed  
By the flash of a neon light  
That split the night  
And touched the sound of silence**_

A light flashed, having been forgotten in a store window as the proprietor hurriedly shuttered his business. Flickering slightly, wounded like the brighter lights now extinguished among the fallen. He choked back what would have been an almost maddening barking laugh at the sign… "Pawn Anything of Value." A receptacle where the silent pawned small pieces of their life for the false belief that they would gain a few more small pieces of time. But the fallen at the feet of the wanderer had pawned nothing. They sold all they had. They sold their lives… and not cheaply. They exacted a terrible price from their enemies. They sold their lives like those who loved life dearly and knew the value of it. But because they knew that value, they would not live in any means but freedom.

 _ **And in the naked light I saw  
Ten thousand people, maybe more  
People talking without speaking  
People hearing without listening  
People writing songs that voices never share  
And no one dared  
Disturb the sound of silence**_

As the young wanderer wearily stepped about the street, he imagined each face once laughing, smiling. Each voice singing, whispering, sharing. Each one becoming many more as their years came upon them, the voices, smiles, laughter growing with each generation. Hearts that wrote silent epics never committed to paper.

 _ **"Fools," said I, "you do not know  
Silence like a cancer grows  
Hear my words that I might teach you  
Take my arms that I might reach you"  
But my words like silent raindrops fell  
And echoed in the wells of silence**_

But the silence echoed onward. His father had grown weary of fighting the growing cancer and had reserved his last strength as he aged to prepare another for the future, forsaking his wisdom that the future must be fought for in the present. He had become cynical, bitter, and had defeated himself.

 _ **And the people bowed and prayed  
To the neon god they made  
And the sign flashed out its warning  
In the words that it was forming  
And the sign said "The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls  
And tenement halls  
And whispered in the sound of silence**_

He began for feel a disdain, if not hatred for the people sitting huddled in their brownstone apartments, refusing to even peer through their shutters after the echoes of battle faded away. They had come to accept the graffiti of "HA HA HA" on alley walls and subway stations. For many it was the closest thing to laughter they had heard in a long time. They chose to acquiesce and the price they paid was freedom… just to get by… in silence. But the silence around him in the rain soaked street spoke aloud to him, compelled him, demanded of him, just as he demanded of himself.

He reached his first goal, the youth who demanded to live free. Fortunately, his eyes were closed, but his face held a mien of pride and satisfaction. He was, and would be, forever free. Gently and achingly pulled the leather jacket off the boy and looked once again on the bright steel logo that he had once pinned on that chest. Only a step away was the wanderer's own brother. The enemies lying at his feet and the destruction around him gave voice to his prowess, and finally to his love of life as he fought at the side of the other young man.

He gritted his teeth and forced away the rising heartbeat, and tears, as he pulled away the red mask from his brother and very gently laid his head back down on the rain-drenched cobble stone. With a metallic clatter he threw aside his steel staff to land in the darkness of the alley.

The wanderer then unclasped his black and yellow cape revealing his lithe, strong form; and pulled on the leather jacket with its razor sharp steel decoration shaped in the letter "R" that he had once given the boy. He reached down and took up his brother's pistols and pulled his red hood over his own face and draped his bloody cape, some of the blood his own, over his brother's quiescent form and walked away from the light…

In his heart he wrote a song for them that all would hear. He returned home to join his loved ones and plan their battle, their retribution, their vengeance… their own song. They would disturb the sound of silence. Their hearts would beat like drums and their voices crying out it final victory would be the blast of trumpets… punctuated by the thunderclaps of his pistols. Flickering neon would be replaced by the crimson light of eyes that that refused to weep, and sparking, failing electrical lines overwhelmed by the crackling power of speed and time. The lone voice unsung in the darkness had failed. An epic symphony would follow with the fury of their voices.

"Fools!" said he… "You do not know." … but they would soon enough.


End file.
